


Pray

by Cowboy_Sneep_Dip



Category: Tales of Berseria
Genre: Bathing/Washing, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 13:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19768969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip/pseuds/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip
Summary: “I was going to bathe before bed,” Teresa says, setting down her empty teacup.“Would you like assistance, milady?” Eleanor stares into her own cup, unwilling to lift her eyes to meet Teresa’s gaze.“Only if it would not trouble you.” Teresa stands, “Though you still shiver. Perhaps a warm bath would benefit you, as well.”“Milady.”





	Pray

“Lady Linares.”

Teresa purses her lips and closes the thick, weathered tome splayed open on her desk. She caps her inkwell and turns. 

“You asked to see me, milady?”

Teresa smiles. “Ah, Praetor Hume, yes.”

Eleanor closes the heavy wooden door behind her and the metal latch slides shut. Teresa’s office is spacious and drafty, with a broad window looking out on the Hellawes skyline. Snow flutters through the air and lays in a thin sheet on the street below. The glass is streaked with melting snow, the flakes that land warmed by the light and warmth of the lamp on Teresa’s desk. 

Eleanor bows, slightly, pressing a fist to her chest in salute. “Milady.”

Teresa pushes her chair back from her desk and stands, reaching into her drawer to withdraw two long, white gloves. Eleanor can’t help but watch her fingers as she draws the gloves over her hands and tugs them up under her sleeves. They aren’t the soft, pristine hands she would have expected of the governor of Hellawes - rather, they are calloused, and a thin, pale scars mars one palm. “Have you heard from my brother?” 

Eleanor shakes her head. “No, ma’am. Last report he was north, in Beardsley, looking for the escaped Daemons.”

“And you?” Teresa raises an eyebrow. 

“I just got back from patrol, milady,” Eleanor says nervously. The evidence of her claim is in her flushed, rosy cheeks and red nose. She must have just come in from the cold. 

“You look freezing,” Teresa says. She heads for the door and gestures for Eleanor to follow. “I was about to make some tea. Would you care to join me?”

“Thank you, Lady Linares,” Eleanor bows again, blushing. It was not every praetor that got such kindness from the governess. 

She follows Teresa out of her office and into the broad stone hallway on the second floor of the abbey. To one side, stone walls, heavy doors, and offices. To the other, a balustrade and a long drop to the nave. The pews are almost empty, as expected for this time of night. A old priest lights candles in the narthex. 

Eleanor’s eyes are fixed on the woman before her - the sway of her hips, the confidence of her gait, her long, soft hair. It shimmered a soft, pale gold in the torchlight, and Eleanor couldn’t help but be drawn to watching it. 

That Teresa Linares was beautiful was no subject of controversy - the people of Hellawes knew this, and she had rebuffed men and women alike, swearing her duty to the church above all else. Part of Eleanor’s duties had been digging out mail from suitors and fans and disposing of it. Lady Teresa had no time for such trivialities.

They take the stairs down, past the main body of the church and into the lower levels. The kitchen is quiet and empty, and Teresa sets to work quickly, kneeling at a cabinet. As she fishes out loose tea leaves, she speaks softly. 

“Anything of note in your patrol route?” 

Eleanor’s hands wring the ruffles of her skirt. “Hm? I’m sorry.”

“Did you see any daemons?” Teresa stands and pours water from a jug into a metal teapot. The coal-fired stove still burns warm. 

“No, ma’am,” Eleanor shakes her head, instinctively dipping her head into a bow. “Er, that man asked your hand again.”

Teresa sighs and measures out spoonfuls of leaves into two cups. “You rebuffed him?”

“Of course, milady. I told him your first love is the Abbey.” 

Teresa turns and rests against the counter. “I suppose it can’t be helped.”

“The people love you, milady,” Eleanor is quick to fill the silence. “They say that you’re the hero of Hellawes. After you repelled those daemons last month, th-”

Teresa holds up her hand and smiles. “Please, Eleanor. I thought you better than those supplicants.” 

Eleanor blushes and bows her head. “I’m sorry, milady.” 

There’s little sound between them, save the slow boiling of the water. Teresa takes the pot from the stove and pours two cups before placing them on a tray.

“You take yours with sugar, yes?” 

“Yes, milady,” Teresa brushes a lock of orange hair from her face. “I’m surprised you remember.”

“I’m not unaccustomed to serving tea,” Teresa smiles. She spoons two cubes of sugar into Eleanor’s tea and stirs. Her own is taken with honey.

They sit in an alcove in the corner of the dining hall, a small table pushed to the side. The alternative is the wide dining table lined with heavy wooden chairs. It got use during festivals and following services, but now it is long and empty. Eleanor stirs her tea and sips it. “It’s delicious. Thank you, Lady Linares.” 

Teresa smiles into the lip of her cup. She never did lose the skill, even after all this time. Oscar had never been able to make tea and she teased him for it, smiling when be blushed and protested. She sets her teacup down and rests her spoon on the rim of her saucer. “I haven’t seen much of you these days, Eleanor.”

Eleanor takes another sip. “I’ve been busy. Ever since the restrictions at the port, more and more exorcists have needed to step in and solve conflicts between merchants. I know that the other praetors are busy approving permits, but...sometimes it feels like a permanent patrol at the docks might be necessary.” 

Teresa lifts an eyebrow. “You think so?”

“Far be it from me to tell you how to govern your city, milady,” Eleanor lowers her eyes. 

“I value your opinion, Praetor,” Teresa says. “If we had a patrol at the docks, perhaps those daemons might not have slipped through.” She rests a hand on the table. “I’ll make a note to discuss it with Oscar, when he returns.”

“Thank you, milady.” It’s silent again, save the soft tink of china and silver, and the scrape of the spoon as Eleanor stirs her tea. She resists the urge to nervously swallow the whole cup in a single gulp. It’s warm and helps thaw her insides, still cold from her patrol. Hellawes was a beautiful city, but the snow drips down her collar and soaks into her boots. She had worn gloves out, once, but she dropped her lance into the channel of water across the way from the inn, and that was the end of that. Her fingertips weren’t blue, anymore, after time inside and contact with the warmth of her teacup. 

“I was going to bathe before bed,” Teresa says, setting down her empty teacup.

“Would you like assistance, milady?” Eleanor stares into her own cup, unwilling to lift her eyes to meet Teresa’s gaze.

“Only if it would not trouble you.” Teresa stands, “Though you still shiver. Perhaps a warm bath would benefit you, as well.”

“Milady.”

-

Eleanor helps Teresa undress. She stands behind Teresa and unbuttons her collar, slipping her jacket from her shoulders. Her gown comes off next, with some struggle. She undoes the buttons along the back and pulls it from her shoulders, watching the skin revealed inch by inch. She’s pale in the dim torchlight, but even in the dark Eleanor can see pale white lines across Teresa’s shoulders. She lets her fingers linger on the divot of her spine beneath her neck. 

“Battle wounds,” Teresa says softly, her head bowed. 

“Of course, milady. I’m sorry.” Eleanor blushes and pulls the gown from her, and then peels off her skirt, leaving her in her underclothes. She rests the gown on Teresa’s bed and kneels behind her to unsnap the clasps of her garter belt. Teresa sits on the bed and allows Eleanor to peel her sheer leggings down, pulling them off with one hand and gingerly holding her leg with the other. Her muscles are toned and hard beneath soft skin. Teresa is strong under that soft exterior. Eleanor would hate to find herself on the wrong side of her staff. 

She neatly folds her leggings and rests them beside the gown. “Stay here, milady, and I’ll run the bath.”

She crosses from Teresa’s bedroom to her bathroom, a wide room with frosted windows and a clawfoot tub in the center. Hellawes has plumbing in most of the buildings, but the pipes run through the abbey first. She turns the creaky gold handle and hot water pours into the tub, filling the bathroom with steam. She stands up while it fills and gathers up an armful of supplies - soap, shampoo, a fresh washcloth, a towel to deposit beside the tub. She shuts off the water and returns to Teresa’s bedroom.

She’s standing up, in front of her bookcase, perusing the spines. 

Eleanor’s heart catches. 

Teresa looks beautiful in the half-light, bare legs terminating at soft, silk underwear, a laced corset beneath tense, chiseled back muscles. Her hair, coiling like a fall of gold down her back. 

Eleanor almost chokes. “Ah, the bath is ready, milady.”

“Oh,” Teresa says, shutting a book and sliding it back onto the shelf. “Of course.”

She allows Eleanor to unlace the back of her corset and Eleanor rests it on the bed, trying very hard not to stare at the bare skin before her. She slides the garter belt down and Teresa steps out of it, nude save her silk panties. Eleanor stares at her lower back, eyes lingering on her dimples.

“I’ll-” Eleanor swallows, but her voice dies in her throat. She watches Teresa cross from the bedroom and shut the bathroom door behind her. Eleanor breathes a sigh of relief.

She’d been in Teresa’s rooms before, sometimes to clean, sometimes to do laundry, sometimes to bring her tea, or lunch. The abbey liked the exorcists performing the maintenance of facilities, dining and cleanliness. Discipline is the heart of faith, as it were. She folds Teresa’s short jacket and carries it to her chest of drawers, an ornate carved piece of heavy wood painted in white lacquer and gold trim. She opens a drawer and shuts it, blushing. Not quite what she had been looking for.

On her third try, she lays the jacket besides similar clothes and returns to the bed. She can see steam curling from beneath the door, and hear the shifting and sloshing of water in the tub. Her eyes flash towards the clothing that remains on the bed. Her corset would require washing.

Eleanor lets her fingers brush the soft silk of the clothes splayed out on the bed. Her leggings, white and sheer, meticulously pristine. Her corset, unlaced, still warm from the press of her flesh. Eleanor gathers her dress in her arms and buries her face in the folds of lace and soft fabric, inhaling.

She can still hear the sounds of Teresa in the bath but the sound is almost drowned out by the beating of her heart, the warmth pooling in her stomach, the tensing of her muscles. She lifts the dress further and inhales, drawing in Teresa’s scene - the smell of her perfume, something flowery and soft, ink and parchment and soot and lanterns, the lingering scene of tea leaves in her collar. Eleanor inhales again, deeper, and her eyes wander across the other clothing Teresa have left discarded. 

She sets the dress down quietly and creeps over to the bathroom, her heart surely loud enough to be heard through the door. Satisfied that Teresa is distracted, she steps out of her flats. 

Teresa’s leggings are still warm as she slides them over her legs. She wiggles her toes experimentally in the carpet. It feels nice. The underclothes are part of the Consul-rank uniform - a compliment to the frills and dress, more formal than the standard praetor wear. She slips Teresa’s garter belt up beneath her skirt and snugly around her hips. It’s silky against her bare skin, above her uncomfortably taut and wet bloomers. She shifts, picking up the corset. It would be impossible to pull it over her dress so she settles for burying her nose in it, inhaling again. It’s still warm on the inside, where ribbing and fabric had pressed against Lady Linares’ skin. A hand fumbles down at her skirts, resisting the urge to touch but toying with the idea. 

“Oh, Eleanor?” 

Eleanor’s heart leaps out of her chest and she drops the corset to the bed, staggering forward and yanking at her leggings. “Y-Yes, Lady Linares?” 

“Could you come here, please?” 

“O-of course, milady!” Eleanor calls through the door, trying to still her heart thrumming against her ribcage, climbing up her throat. She fumbles with the straps of the garter belt as she staggers towards the door. 

Teresa pushes the bedroom door open, steam billowing around her wet and towel-wrapped body. “Are you alright? I heard movement.”

“Ah, yes,” Eleanor blushes, dropping her gaze. 

“I was wondering if you would be able to help me with my hair?”

“Of course, milady,” Eleanor says, walking quickly towards the door, praying Teresa doesn’t look too closely at her sheer-clad legs beneath her skirt. Teresa disrobes again and drapes the towel over a rack, slipping into the steaming water while Eleanor tries very hard to pull the ruffles of her skirt in front of her crotch. Panic and arousal seldom mix.

“Thank you again, Eleanor,” Teresa leans back against the edge of the bathtub and closes her eyes, combing her fingers through her long, wet hair. “It can be such an awful bother to clean on my own.” 

“I understand, milady,” Eleanor says, stepping carefully into the bathroom and fumbling around for a glass jar of shampoo. It's a fragrant, sticky substance, thick and white and shimmering as she kneels at the back of the tub and begins working a handful of it through Teresa’s locks. 

“What are you thinking about, milady?” Eleanor asks idly, carding her hands through her hair. Her panic hasn’t subsided, each motion making her more and more aware that she’s kneeling on steam-slick tiles that are dampening Teresa’s leggings with every motion. She swallows. 

“That daemon,” Teresa frowns. “If she is in Beardsley, I hope that she doesn’t cause trouble before Oscar can find her.”

“Are you worried about your brother?”

Teresa shakes her head, dragging foam across the surface of the water. “No, my dear Oscar can take care of himself. It’s the people I worry for.”

Eleanor lets her fingers drop to Teresa’s shoulders and grip the tense muscles. She presses her thumbs against her taut back. 

“Ah,” Teresa lets out a sharp moan, and Eleanor blushes, embarrassed at her body’s reaction to the sound. She tucks her skirt lower with one hand. 

“Too much, milady?”

Teresa shakes her head. “No, it feels nice. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Eleanor smiles, rolling her knuckles against the knotty muscles of her shoulder. “You’ve been working hard.”

“You say that as if you aren’t.”

Eleanor leans back and pats around for soap. “Lean forward. Thank you, milady.” She presses a soapy hand against Teresa’s spine. “I do my part, same as the other exorcists.” 

“I think no other exorcist would be performing such menial tasks at such a late hour.”

“It’s not menial if it’s for you, milady.” She rubs soap over her back, taking the time to run her fingers over the scars. Eleanor knew the scars left by blades and claws, intimately. These are not those. “I take pride in my station as your assistant.” 

“And I take pride in you.” Teresa leans forward. “You seem cold, Praetor Hume.”

Eleanor curls her shaking hand into a fist. It’s nerves, not the cold, but damn if she was going to let her superior know that. “No, ma’am.”

Teresa frowns at her and rests her folded arms on the edge of the tub, leaning forward. “Come. Disrobe. You’ve worked hard, and now you’ve washed me. An eye for an eye need not by violent.” 

Eleanor curls a wet fist around her skirt. “Er, I’d...I’d rather not, milady.”

“Shy?” 

“I…” she swallows. “I’ve got a scar, milady. An ugly thing. I wouldn’t want you to trouble yourself.”

Teresa laughs. “With seeing your scars? As if you have not seen mine. She sloshes forward and reaches a hand for Eleanor’s jacket. “Come, come. I will order you, if I must.” 

“I…” Eleanor blushes.

“I command you, then,” Teresa frowns. “Undress.”

Eleanor opens her mouth, then closes it. “I...of course, milady. I’ll be right back.” She pushes herself to her feet and shuffles out of the bathroom, Teresa’s gaze burning holes in her back. 

-

Eleanor folds her arms over her chest, but even that fails to cover the dark, ugly mark carved into her flesh. She blushes, her face tucked into her shoulder. It’s worse than being naked. The exorcists shared bunks, back in their recruit days - it wasn’t uncommon to see each others’ bodies. But this is something different. 

Teresa nods somberly. She scoots backwards and gestures to the empty space in the water before her. 

It’s warm, almost heavenly. After eight hours of marching in the cold and the snow, it felt as close to paradise as one could get. Not everyone in Hellawes had access to heated water, and to lie languid in that luxury was divine. She can feel Teresa’s skin, hot and slick against her back and she adjusts against her. She tries to curl herself forward, to make herself smaller, to take up as little of the tub as she can. 

Teresa reaches out and grasps her hair, pulling her ties loose and letting Eleanor’s hair drape to her shoulders. “Lean back, Praetor.”

So that’s her game. Eleanor cannot ignore and order, so she does, allowing Teresa to lave warm, soapy water over her hair. She takes the cloth draped over the side of the tub and presses it to Eleanor’s spine, gently scrubbing. 

Eleanor refuses to budge, her arms tight around her chest, her muscles tense and her body motionless.

“Relax,” Teresa says, wiping soapy water across her shoulder. “Or can my best Praetor not relax?” 

The words ring loud in Eleanor’s ear, and she knows her blush isn’t just from the steam. She closes her eyes. “T-thank you, milady.” 

Teresa leans forward, her nose almost brushing Eleanor’s bare back. Close enough that Eleanor can feel her breath on her. 

“You smell nice,” Teresa remarks, her voice low and breathy.

“It’s…” Eleanor stumbles, her tongue thick in her mouth. “I bought perfume from a merchant from Meirchio.” She breathes slowly, heavily, unsure what to do, unable to discern Teresa’s position beyond ‘uncomfortably close’. Something brushes the nape of her neck.

“I…” the word isn’t even uttered, dying as it’s caught in Eleanor’s throat. She doesn’t try speaking again. 

A hand slips under the water and brushes the small of her back. Eleanor lets out a sharp, curt gasp. 

“Praetor.”

“Y-yes, Lady Linares.” 

Eleanor can feel the smug, creeping smile in Teresa’s words. “I see you’re standing at attention.”

Eleanor’s blush deepens into a hot, painful crimson and she drops her arms from her chest into the water. “I-I-I-” she stammers. “I’m…” she closes her eyes. “I’m sorry, milady, I’m unused to-”

“To what?” 

The voice is close to her ear. 

“To…” To what, exactly? Shared baths? Stealing her boss’s underwear? She blushes deeper. “To...being so close.”

Something again brushes the nape of her neck, and there’s no doubt about what it is this time. Teresa’s lips are soft, just like she imagined they would be.

“Speak, Praetor.” 

“Lady Linares…” 

“What would you have me do?” 

“I…” Eleanor closes her eyes. Getting up isn’t an option, not unless she wants to expose herself to the cool air - her scar, her skin, the fullness of her arousal. 

“Command me, Praetor.”

Eleanor swallows. 

A hand rests against her hip, under the water. It creeps forward, delicate, slender fingers trailing along her skin. 

“I would not presume to, milady,” Eleanor breathes.

Out of patience, Teresa slides backwards and catches the hair Eleanor had let down, pulling her backwards against her. She can feel the softness of Teresa’s skin, her breasts against her back, her breath against her ear. 

Caught off guard, Eleanor moans at the pressure of Teresa pulling her hair.

“Do you think I didn’t see you getting my clothing wet?” Teresa says in her ear. 

“I’m s-sorry,” Eleanor stammers, blushing. 

Teresa pulls her hair again. “That’s your apology? You’re  _ sorry _ ?”

“I’m sorry, m-milady,” Eleanor says breathless. She feels like she might burst, wriggling backwards against Teresa’s body. Teresa drops a hand to wrap around Eleanor’s neck from behind. 

“Tell me, Praetor.”

“L-L-Lady Lin-”

“Beg.”

“P-please,” Eleanor moans, grinding backwards against her, unable to contain herself any longer. “Please.”

“Call me by my name.”

“Please, Teresa…” Eleanor groans. “T-Teresa…”

Teresa’s hand tightens around her neck and the other drops lower, tracing between Eleanor’s breasts, brushing the rough scar tissue, dropping lower, and Eleanor lets out a muffled moan as Teresa grips her cock. 

Her long,delicate fingers shift up and down, an even pace, drawing stifled gasps from Eleanor’s throat. 

“Say my name, Praetor,” Teresa says in her ear. 

“T-Teresa,” Eleanor squirms against her, trying to thrust into her hand. 

Teresa cups her cock deftly, flicking her wrist in measured, practice motions. “Again.”

“Teresa…”

She tightens her grip on Eleanor’s neck and quickens her pace against her cock. “Beg me.”

“P-please,” Eleanor chokes out, grinding her hips backwards into Teresa’s body. She can feel the warmth of Teresa’s body against hers, her breasts heavy and heaving against her back. “Please,” she stammers again. 

Teresa tightens her embrace, tugging Eleanor flush and tight against her, and Eleanor can feel herself building to a climax.

“T-Teresa, w-wait,” she breathes.

“Come, Praetor. Come for me.”

Eleanor whimpers and obeys, letting out a moan as she does. She spills out warm and sticky in Teresa’s hand under the water, the last spasms of her orgasm dripping thick and hot between her fingers. She gasps again and collapses backwards against Teresa, utterly spent. 

She lets out a slight gasp as Teresa lifts her hand from the water, brushing her fingers against the sensitive head of Eleanor’s cock, reaching for the towel to wipe off. 

Eleanor leans back into her embrace, resting her head against Teresa’s shoulder, breathing heavily.

Teresa kisses the nape of her neck again, softly. 

“Milady,” Eleanor exhales.

“You did well,” Teresa smiles. Eleanor tilts her chin up, looking for Teresa’s lips, disappointed to find her staring at the snow-frosted window instead. Gazing north, towards Beardsley. 


End file.
